


Whole Again

by whataboutdamon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, vague descriptions of anxiety/depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whataboutdamon/pseuds/whataboutdamon
Summary: Bruce is audience to a rare moment of Bucky using kitchen cuddles to help Steve remember that he is strong enough to bear the weight of living





	Whole Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fic so I'm sorry if it's bad/awkward!! I just love these two so much and I wanted to write some fluff :')

The early hours of the morning offered a rare period of serenity in the Avengers tower. The tasks of the day ahead had not yet demanded the attention of its residents, and they were still fast asleep in their beds as the few sprawling rays of sun crept toward them. Even Tony, fresh off a three-day binge in his lab, was comatose in his room, recharging for his next dawning of brilliance. Only Steve arose when the sky still held the darkness of the night. The perfect time to run, he thought, was when the air was still brisk from hours without the sun, and few civilians were around to recognize him. He also liked that no one else was usually awake in the tower when he returned; these fleeting moments of solitude were the only thing keeping him sane in this new world of social media and relentless gossip magazines reporting on every second of his life.

Well, one of the things.

The other thing safeguarding his sanity was Bucky.

Steve would get annoyed at yet another glossy cover attempting to debauch his image as America’s golden boy—really, why couldn’t they just leave him alone?—and Bucky would glance at the magazine over Steve’s shoulder, skimming the title with a mischievous look on his face. “‘Steve Rogers—All-Around Ladies’ Man.’ Huh, just like old times, ain’t it, Stevie?” he’d say with a chuckle and a nudge to Steve’s side. Steve would roll his eyes, untense his shoulders and remember that as long as the people closest to him knew the truth, he didn’t care what anyone else thought. 

Bucky had ways of disarming Steve, of breaking through the fog he sometimes found himself in when the world became too foreign, too cold. The comforting weight of a metal hand on the small of Steve’s back, the familiar husky Brooklyn drawl, even just the warmth of Bucky’s presence was enough to plant Steve’s feet back on the ground when he felt like he was going to float away. Bucky anchored him, kept him steady when he got lost in the fast pace of the world around him.  
He was trying to keep up with this pace on his morning run, his feet pounding the pavement so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if he left cracks in his wake. He had startled awake a few hours earlier coated in a layer of cold sweat, his sheets strewn about him. He couldn’t remember the details of the dream that had pulled him so viciously from the tranquility of sleep—just rushing water and the kind of cold that breaks bones in half. As soon as he opened his eyes and realized his room was far too big to be in a rundown Brooklyn apartment building, the harrowing events of his past fused with the harsh realities of the present, leaving a dull weight in his chest and a cloudiness in his mind. The crisp morning air had cleared his sluggish head but left in the absence a startling clarity that had his thoughts forming quicker than he could process them. So, he cycled his feet faster, barely allowing them to hit the pavement before he was pulling them up again and pushing on. 

It was later than usual when he finally arrived back at the tower, which is probably why Bruce was sitting in the communal kitchen drinking from a mug of steaming tea. Head down, Steve gave him a curt nod as he walked past him to start a pot of coffee. Bruce watched his friend as he made his way to the opposite side of the kitchen, stopping in front of the eye-level cabinets above the counter. Steve opened the cabinet, took out a bag of coffee grounds, and languidly wiped a hand down his face before scooping some grounds into the coffee machine and pushing the start button. His back to the scientist, the blond then closed his eyes, leaned forward, and bared his knuckles on the countertop, letting the swirls of indestructible marble support his weight just for a moment. The weight in his chest had sunk to the soles of his feet during his run, leaving a hallowed pit beneath his sternum. He needed something stronger than himself to bear this cavernous burden because he was about to break under it. 

Bruce watched his teammate’s head hang between hunched, tense shoulders as the rumbling sounds of the coffee machine filled the kitchen. Bruce knew Steve, like himself, preferred to suffer in silence, so while he could tell something was bothering the man, he knew it was best not to say anything. Instead, he turned the page of the newspaper he was reading, rustling it a bit more than normal to let Steve knew he was there and was willing to listen if he needed him to. But there was only one person in the tower who could completely dispel the vacant look from those blue eyes, and he came shuffling into the kitchen with pillow creases on one side of his face and tufts of hair coming loose from the knot secured at the nape of his neck. 

Bucky recognized Steve’s shape through sleep-addled eyes and shuffled across the kitchen to lean himself against the blond’s back. 

“Hmphhhr,” Bucky mumbled, the side of his face pressed to the back of Steve’s neck and arms dangling at his sides. Steve lifted his head up and looked behind him. At the first glance of the disheveled brunette, the side of his mouth quirked, and the tension seeped from his frame as if banished by the heat of the body that was flush with his. 

“Mornin’, Buck,” Steve said quietly. The machine in front of them made the final dribbling sounds, indicating the coffee was ready. Bucky lifted his arms and reached around either side of Steve, making little strained groaning sounds as he blindly fumbled over the countertop searching for the scorching hot liquid. “Hey, hold on Grabby Hands, let me get the mugs,” Steve said, taking both of Bucky’s hands and setting them on top of each other near the edge of the counter in front of him. With a “hmph,” Bucky crossed his arms across Steve’s abdomen, resigning to wait until his coffee was prepared. Enveloped by a half-awake sniper shuffling along with him, Steve moved down the counter a few feet to reach into the cabinet above and retrieve two thick mugs (created by Tony to keep the contained beverage at an optimum temperature, of course) before returning to the coffee machine and pouring two cups of black coffee. Steve knocked a mug against one of Bucky’s arms that was snaked around his waist, and Bucky loosened his grip just enough for Steve to turn around and lean against the countertop, placing the mug into Bucky’s waiting grip. Still facing Steve, Bucky sipped his drink, as if testing the blond’s ability to adequately brew coffee. Bucky sighed with content and turned to lean against the counter by Steve’s side, their shoulders touching. 

“Did I pass?” Steve asked, head turned to the side, watching Bucky bask in the warmth and aroma of the drink in his hands with half-lidded eyes. 

“Mmm, always do,” Bucky replied with a soft smile. He looked over at Steve to find the same smile on his face. They looked at each other for a moment more, then began drinking their coffee in the soft silence of the morning, Bucky’s head often lolling to the side to rest on Steve’s shoulder between sips. 

As the sun rose and washed the empty kitchen in hues of orange, Steve realized Bruce must have slipped away right after Bucky appeared, after he finished his tea. He was grateful to have a friend who recognized his pain but didn’t push any boundaries trying to get him to talk about it. He was also thankful for one long-haired brunette who seemed to always know exactly when Steve needed him to break those boundaries and quell the ache within him. Because this—shoulder-to-shoulder with his best friend in the entire world, coffee warming him from the inside out—was exactly what he’d needed to feel strong again.


End file.
